


A Strange Set of Circumstances: The Deathly Hallows

by Azorrah_lee



Series: A Strange Set of Circumstance [7]
Category: Glee, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Crossover, M/M, Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:41:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23647888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azorrah_lee/pseuds/Azorrah_lee
Summary: The end is nigh! With Professor Dumbledore dead and allies are dropping like flies, now the onus falls on Kurt to lead his friends to victory over the forces of Darkness. Kurt has sacrificed so much to make it this far but will the price of peace be too high?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Lisa Turpin, Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum, Kurt Hummel/Charlie Weasley, Mandy Brocklehurst/Neville Longbottom
Series: A Strange Set of Circumstance [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1121055
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

_27 th July 1997_

_Camden Town, London_

_10:33am_

Mrs Granger picked up the discarded post-it and stuck it back on the notice board; unsure who the task belonged to, she stuck it in the uncategorised region. Hermione’s area was crowded, she had let her tasks fall to the wayside and Mrs Granger suspected it had something to do with all the bad news that filled The Daily Prophet. Hermione had her secrets and she had her secrets too, Kurt Hummel had signed them up for a subscription to the Prophet when he’d done the same for his parents- the Grangers were very much aware of the changing time despite being muggles.

She started filtering the items under Hermione’s section that she’d done on her daughter’s behalf when she came across a phone number that she didn’t recognise. She contemplated completing this task on her daughter’s behalf but feared it might be a private matter. She was torn, there was only so much she could do for Hermione, being a muggle meant that she couldn’t help Hermione with her magical problems but a phone call was still within her power.

The decision was made and Mrs Granger carried the post it to the lounge telephone, “George, would you turn down the telly. I want to make quick phone call.”

“But Manchester’s winning!”

“City or United?”

“United!”

“Oh,” she rolled her eyes, a habit she’d picked up from her daughter, “this won’t take long. Besides, the volume that they are playing in this lounge has no bearing on the match’s outcome.”

“Your daughter is a witch who does literal magic and yet you remain obstinate,” George shook his head, “not a superstitious bone in your body.”

“You think that your shouting at a match that has a thirty second delay has an effect on events that have happened?”

“When you put it that way…”

“Yes George,” she smirked, “now turn it down or I’ll turn it off.”

“Very well.”

Mrs Granger took the seat beside the telephone and dialled the number.

“Hello,” the voice on the other end answered.

“Yes, Hello,” she nodded to herself, “this is Anne Granger, calling on behalf of Hermione Granger. May I ask with whom I am speaking?”

“Oh, right,” the person on the other end seemed flustered, “sorry, I’m new here. This is the Headington Road Cemetery, how can I help you Ms Granger?”

“Mrs,” she heard herself correcting.

“Sorry, Mrs Granger.”

“I’m calling in connection to the business of one Hermione Jean Granger, this is her mother,” her brow had furrowed itself by now, “but I don’t think I have the right number…”

“Oh, let me look her up on the computer,” Mrs Granger waited whilst the receptionist on the other end of the line clicked away on the keyboard, “Nothing for a Hermione Granger.”

“Maybe one of her friends is buried there,” Mrs Granger guessed, “a Cedric Diggory?” the reception answered to the negative, “Finn Hudson?” again, her guess was proved to be false, “Sirius Black.”

“I’m sorry ma’am,” the receptionist pronounced ma’am like palm, as opposed to the proper, like ham, “there isn’t anyone by that name buried here.”

“Thank you for your time,” Mrs Granger smiled politely despite her partner in conversation being unable to see it, “I’ll be sure to encourage my daughter to improve her penmanship. Goodbye.”

George was staring at her with his brow furrowed, “What was that all about?”

“I was trying to complete one of Hermione’s chores for her,” she explained, “I thought I could make a phone call on her behalf because I can’t help her enchant her purse.”

“That was very thoughtful of you,” her husband smiled.

“she scribbled this number down carelessly,” she shook her head, “this is the telephone number of cemetery in Oxford.”

“None of her friends…”

“None of the ones she’s mentioned to us,” Mrs Granger shrugged, “Mione!” her daughter didn’t respond, “Mione come down here.”

“Just a moment mum.”

“I’ll have to tell her that I tried to ring them up,” she got to her feet, “What were you thinking for sup?”

“Oh,” the man’s grin grew wide, “you’re spoiling me.”

“Should I ring the chippy next?”

“Extra vinegar on my chips!”

“George,” she shook her head, “I know how you like your chips, been married to you for near twenty-five years.”

“People change Annie,” the man shrugged, “you’ve changed quite a bit.”

“Yes,” she nodded to herself, “like I’m about to change into the kind of mother who smacks her daughter! Do you hear me Hermione Granger? I’m going to get the wooden spoon like my mum used to.”

Hermione entered the lounge from the kitchen, all her post-its in hand, “here I am mum.”

She looked on the verge of tears, “what’s wrong honey?”

“Nothing,” she shook her head, “I’m fine.”

Mrs Granger noticed Hermione’s purse, “you going out with your friends? I was about to call to chip shop.”

“Yes,” Hermione smiled but her eyes stayed sad.

Mrs Granger handed Hermione the post-it with the wrong number, “I tried calling for you, I think it might be a wrong number. Unless you have business with the Headington Road Cemetery.”

“Thank you, mum,” Hermione hugged her tightly and whispered in her ear, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too Mione,” Mrs Ganger held her daughter for a moment, “let me get my purse, I have a few galleons to spare from stationary shopping.”

Hermione hugged her father and he told her he loved her too; when Mrs Granger turned back from retrieving her purse, Hermione had her wand pointed at them “Hermione Jean Granger, have you lost your mind?”

“I’m so sorry,” their daughter was sobbing as she slowly backed away from them, “ _Patrificus totalus_.”

~0~

_Three Weeks Earlier…_

Kurt rolled his eyes at his friends, “please stop offering to open your homes to me for the summer, it makes my life sound sad.”

“You aren’t going to Peru, your family is gone and your brother is dead,” Hermione recounted, “that is sad.”

“Or you could look at it like this,” Kurt smirked, “I’m going to be enjoying a summer at home with no parental supervision or anyone to share my money with.”

“Damn,” Ron grumbled, “now I want my family to leave and my brother to die…” he straightened up, “not that I don’t love them but I could spare Percy and I hate sharing.”

“But you have to spend time with your mother in case you’re the brother they can spare,” Kurt chided the boy.

“I know,” Ron nodded to himself, “and we’ll see each other in less than a month at the wedding.”

“Exactly,” Hermione agreed, “just going to be spending time with my parents in case I die.”

“And you want me there why?”

“It will seem less final and sad with you there,” Hermione tried to convince him, “stop me from falling to pieces everyday.”

“This is why I don’t want to be part of your long goodbyes,” Kurt shook his head, “Hermione is going to be weepy because she really loves her family and they are helpless muggles. Ron is going to be having a ‘day a family member’ realisation of how each of them have a special place in his life. Harry Potter is going to be realising that things with his aunt and uncle weren’t that bad and that he owes them so much for raising him.”

“What?” Harry pursed his lips, “I don’t think so.”

“Trust me,” Kurt smirked, “I’ve been through enough therapy to know how this is going to play out.”

“At least your one sounds like a happy moment, where you grow and learn a life lesson,” Hermione sulked, “You’re discovering that you secretly loved your family the whole time, I’m just losing my parents.”

“Now that’s sad,” Kurt shook his head.

“I supposed learning that I cared about Percy all along doesn’t seem so bad,” Ron shrugged, “I could convince Ginny that her plan to fight for Harry might get her killed.”

“Lisa is super territorial and it is so hot,” Harry agreed, “the only person nearly as interested in me is Voldemort and I don’t feel the same way.”

“is it because he doesn’t have a nose?” Ron teased before turning serious and turning to Kurt, “have you figured out why he doesn’t have a nose?”

“Do your homework and you’ll figure it out,” Kurt smirked.

“No, he won’t,” Hermione shook her head, “It’s not in the books, you read about that part of it in Peru.”

“How is it a good idea for you not to go back to Peru?”

“I don’t need to go to Peru,” Kurt rolled his eyes, “I need to find the deplorable word.”

“Oh, yes,” Harry rolled his eyes, “the answer to all our problems.”

“You roll your eyes at me again and I’ll blind you,” Kurt’s voice was low and intimidating.

“I know,” Harry nodded, “it’s our best chance of completely destroying the dark lord.”

“What else?”

“Kurt is always right,” Harry recited the saying with no emotion.

“It’s tattooed on Charlie’s body so it must be true,” Ron chuckled.

“Precisely,” the train jerked to a stop next to a crowded platform nine and three-quarters. Kurt got to his feet and clutched his Birkin close to him, “speaking of, I have to see a man about a ride.”

Hermione gaped at him and shook her head, “Don’t be crass.”

“I mean a ride to my house,” Kurt shook his head, his disappointment evident in his face, “keep your mind out of the gutter, Harry and Lisa’s lack of inhibitions has turned your mind to smut.”

“In my defence,” Ron grinned, “my mind was always smut.”

“I think I’m going to introduce Lisa to my Aunt Petunia,” Harry nodded to himself, ignoring their conversation, “I think she’d approve.”

“That’s sweet,” Kurt pursed his lips, “see, Harry’s little summer arch is starting already.”

Ron rolled his eyes, “I’ll be nice to my siblings, but Ginny is on her own, I like Lisa.”

“She grows on you,” Kurt nodded his agreement, “she’s a tall drink of being her own damn self; she’ll never be Mandy or Tracey, but I respect her comfort with just being Lisa Turpin.”

“I think there might have been a complement buried somewhere in there,” Hermione held back a giggle, “that may be the highest praise she’ll receive from Kurt.”

“And it doesn’t mean shit to me or her,” Harry grinned broadly, “I love her and that doesn’t need to be qualified by anyone-”

“Let’s leave that thought there,” Kurt narrowed his gaze in warning, “let’s not say something we’ll regret.”

“How could I regret it?”

“I could take away your claim to fame.”

“You think I like the cries of ‘Bless my soul, you’re Harry Potter’?”

“I think Kurt meant that he’d remove the ‘who lived’ from you title,” Ron cleared his throat, “leaving you as just ‘the boy’.”

“It was a death threat,” Kurt clarified.

Harry swallowed loudly, “I just remembered that I’m quite fond of the claim, you can take the fame though.” He nodded vigorously, “thank you for approving of my girlfriend.”

“You want Kurt’s approval,” Ron placed a hand on his shoulder, “look at what happened with me and Ming, Kurt made her my cousin and saved me a lot of wasted time.”

“I don’t have the power to make anyone related to any single person,” Kurt spoke the disclaimer as he stepped off the train. Before he could find his footing, he was snatched up and twirled aggressively in a bearhug of note, “put me down.”

“But I missed you,” Charlie argued.

“You saw me this morning,” Kurt rolled his eyes.

“I know,” Charlie pouted, “but I love you.”

“I love you too, but put me down,” Kurt stared the young man down.

“There’s no Professor McGonagall to hide behind now,” Charlie blew a raspberry on Kurt’s clavicle, “you have no choice but to let me love you.”

“You mother could see,” Kurt chided.

“My mother isn’t in charge of me.”

“Does she know that?” Ron whispered as he stood watching the pair.

“Stop staring like pervert Ron,” Charlie chastised his brother, “it’s kind of creepy.”

“I know a place where there’s no Ron to watch,” Kurt purred, “if you put me down then we can go there and show our love with the comfort of bottomless champagne.”

“Tempting but that’s not where I’m taking you,” Charlie planted a peck on Kurt’s lips, “say goodbye to Hermione.”

“Put me down first.”

“Say goodbye to Hermione,” Charlie repeated himself with more force.

“Goodbye Hermione,” Kurt rolled his eyes, “I’ll call you later.”

“Say goodbye other people,” Charlie instructed.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Kurt grumbled, “Goodbye everyone else.”

His friends peered at him with confusion, “bye Kurt.”

Charlie kissed him more deeply and Kurt felt the familiar tugging of apparition, his nostrils were assaulted by the saline smell of the seaside and Kurt opened his eyes to find they were on the beach. Charlie put Kurt down and gestured to the deserted stretch of beach for Kurt to take in.

“I’m familiar with the ocean,” Kurt pursed his lips and crossed his arms.

Charlie turned back to Kurt and wrapped his arms around him again, “just because you’re irish twin died doesn’t mean you get to be snarky about my kind gesture.”

“Finn was English,” Kurt countered.

“It’s a colloquialism,” Charlie shook his head.

“I’m familiar with the offensive term,” Kurt cocked his hip, “I don’t mean to be this salty… I was going to take Finn to the seaside this summer…”

“Shit,” Charlie’s face fell, “I try to take you away from the crippling reminder of your dead brother and bring you to another.”

“There’s no way you could have known,” Kurt took his boyfriend’s hands, “My brother died, there’s nowhere I won’t think of him. This is a very sweet gesture and I love that you thought of this.”

“Well,” Charlie turned Kurt a hundred and eighty degrees, “that solitary cottage is ours for the next few weeks.”

Kurt’s eyes grew wide as he took in the gable roofed cottage sitting beyond a path lined by sea lavender. It took everything in him not to cry, he had to be strong and accept this kind gesture with grace. The idea that there was still someone left to care for him when he’d sent his parents off, lost his brother and let his friends go be with their families tried its hardest to overwhelm him.

“This isn’t even the best part,” Charlie took his hand and led him up the path to the simple pine door. He unlocked it and gestured for Kurt to enter, “I’ll carry you over the threshold some other day.”

“Or I’ll carry you.”

“Is that a short joke?”

Kurt smirked and entered the cottage without a word. All the furniture was covered in white tarps, but the surprise was the popping from behind him. He turned to find Charlie standing with a freshly opened bottle of champagne, pouring Kurt a flute full.

“The best part,” he handed Kurt a flute, “is that I bought the bubbles with us and prepared many books for us to read and fight over.”

“Kiss me you fool,” Kurt pulled his boyfriend into a deep, passionate kiss that made his whole world spin on both axis simultaneously. Kurt drank the young man like he was the only glass of water after months in the desert, “god, I love you.”

“I think it would make things a little awkward if you didn’t,” Charlie teased, nipping at Kurt nose.

Kurt sipped his sparkling wine and smirked, “that train trip has me exhausted.” Kurt stretched casually, faking a yawn, “I think I’m going to take a bath and then go to bed.”

Kurt put his flute down on the kitchen table and removed his school robe, letting it fall to the floor. He loosened his tie as he walked toward the hallway and hung it on a chair as he passed it. he turned back to Charlie as he unbuttoned oxford shirt, “are you just going to stand there or are you going to bring the champagne? My glass is empty.”

~0~

_Ron:_

Kurt had not lied, the thought of losing his family had given Ron a fresh appreciation of them but two and a half weeks with them had worked very hard to dispossess him of this new-found appreciation for them. Ron had to get out of the house and that was how he found himself standing on a sand dune in Cornwall overlooking a rustic cottage with stone chimney sticking out of its gable roof.

He skipped down to the front door and knocked, nobody answered. Ron, being learned in the magical arts, pulled out his wand and pointed it at the lock, “ _Alohamora_.”

The lock clicked open and Ron entered the familiar lounge he had visited as a child, it was deserted but he could hear Kurt quarrelling with his brother. He didn’t remember the cottage well, but somehow it felt familiar to him. He moved into the hallway, then from door to door, trying to locate the conversating pair. When he opened the third door in the hallway, Kurt screamed in horror.

“Ronald Billius Weasley,” Kurt scolded him from the bathtub, where he sat behind Charlie with water and bubbled hiding their bodies below their chests, “what are you doing here?”

“Yeah, you little dick,” Charlie scolded, “why are you here?”

“I don’t know what I’m looking at,” Ron shook his head, “are you two fucking?”

“No,” Kurt sounded scandalised and Ron let out a relieved breath, “we’re reading.” Charlie waved the book in his left hand around, “and I’m grooming him.”

“And keeping me toasty,” Charlie kissed Kurt’s arm, “my human hot water bottle.”

“What are you doing here Ron?”

“I was bored,” Ron shrugged, “Hermione was super depressing when I visited her the other day, Harry wasn’t up for company either…” he scratched at the back of his neck, “Charlie is my brother and you’re in love with him so you have to put up with me.”

Kurt pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled loudly, “Fine, do you want to get in with us while I finish up?”

“What?” Ron and Charlie shouted in tandem.

“It’s a joke boys,” Kurt rolled his eyes, “sit on the hamper, we’re discussing _Kindred_ by Octavia E. Butler.”

“I read it out loud to Kurt and we analyse the prose,” Charlie explained, “discuss the themes.”

“Are you familiar with the novel?” Kurt stared at him expectantly.

“No,” Ron shook his head, he looked at Charlie, “and you’re enjoying this?”

“Yes,” he nodded, “I’m not all about quidditch and dragons. This book explores the experiences of Black women in two different periods of American History, after James Baldwin opened our eyes to the black gay experience last week we’re really gripped by the female perspective offered by this book.”

Ron was shocked that this was the same easy-going brother he’d grown up around, he fell onto the hamper, “I don’t even know you… I’ve been growing bored of mum and dad but here you are, a complete stranger.”

“Did you think Kurt loved me just for my biceps?”

“I never considered it,” Ron shook his head, “you two had chemistry and you both have a thing for dragons.”

“Kurt and I also like good story,” Charlie grinned, summoning a flute for him and filling it, “through many mediums. ‘Was it dusty on the train’ is from a song in Bette Midler movie.”

“Come on now Charles,” Kurt kissed the crown of Charlie’s head, “let’s not bore Ron with the intricacies of our love language.”

“I’m not bored,” Ron shook his head, “I’m just realising that I know about Charlie, but I don’t know him.” He shrugged, “I didn’t know he was gay until I figure out he was suitor-ing you.”

“I’m not gay,” Charlie furrowed his brow and Ron mirrored the expression, “why would you think I’m gay?”

“Is Hummelsexuality just a thing I didn’t know about?”

Charlie quirked a curious brow, “Hummelsexuality?”

“Something one of my suitors said,” Kurt shook his head dismissively.

“So,” Charlie stared the slender young man down, “I shouldn’t be concerned? Jealous even?”

“I’d prefer it if you were jealous,” Kurt leaned forward and placed his chin on Charlie’s tattoo, “should I bring up the Serpent of Slytherin?”

“Excuse me,” Ron interrupted their banter, “but, if Charlie’s not gay…” he gestured between the pair of them, “what is going on here? Am I witnessing bisexuality in the flesh?”

Charlie looked to Kurt, he shrugged, and Ron watched his brother clench his jaw, “not that it’s any of your business, but I’m pansexual. I love Kurt for the know-it-all twit at his centre.” Ron had to turn away when his older brother got to his feet, “will you hand me the bath sheets?”

“Do you have no modesty?” Ron scolded him as he passed the stack of towels back.

“Aren’t you a metaphorical ken doll?” his brother teased, “your brother’s willy shouldn’t have any effect on you, least of all frighten you.”

“Just because this isn’t sexual doesn’t mean it isn’t wrong.”

“All covered,” Ron turned back to Kurt covered completely in a towel, and Charlie drying his hair in the buff. The pair chuckled at his expense, “I’m even flaccid, no need to blush. How do you shower at Hogwarts?”

“What?” Kurt turned to him with confusion written on his face.

“The shower room,” Ron and Charlie chorused.

“Gryffindor is truly a house for savages,” Kurt shuddered, “in Slytherin we have individual showers in a communal bathroom.”

Charlie gaped at him, “so you never sneaked a peak at anyone’s willy?”

“No,” Kurt squared his shoulders, “All the penises I saw during my tenure at Hogwarts were looked upon with my entire chest.”

Kurt turned up his nose and left the bathroom, Ron turned back to Charlie and his ears got hot once more. The other boy looked at him expectantly, “take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Don’t be gross,” Ron shook his head and got up to leave.

“Come on Ron,” Charlie wrapped his towel around his waist and threw his arm over Ron’s shoulder, “don’t be such a baby. This is the teddy bear thing all over again.”

Ron grew angry for the first time that day, “it certainly isn’t.”

“How is this different?”

“The teddy bear thing scarred me for life,” Ron heard himself getting heated, “I’m still terrified of spiders and by extension my teddy bear. You people’s help had the opposite outcome from the desired one.”

“Well,” Charlie shrugged, “depends on how you look at it.”

“What do you mean?” Ron gaped at his brother, “I’m still afraid of spiders.”

“but you stopped sleeping with that teddy bear before going to Hogwarts,” Charlie shrugged, “seems like mum got exactly what she wanted.”

“Mum?” Horror buzzed through Ron’s mind, “mum was in on it?”

“Only person who is innocent in the miseducation of Ron Weasley was dad,” Charlie clapped him on the shoulder with little comfort, “mum was the mastermind.”

“That’s awful,” Kurt shook his head, appearing from the bedroom all dressed up, “you poor baby.”

Ron was awed, “that was quick.”

“Perfection doesn’t take long when you’re already as close as I am,” he pointed Charlie in the direction of the bedroom and led Ron to the kitchen, “more bubbles?”

“Yes please,” Ron held out his empty flute for a refill.

“What about a sandwich?” Kurt looked at him expectantly with hands on hips, “I don’t really cook.”

Ron scratched his chin in confusion, “I thought you used to share recipes with Ming’s mother.”

“Let me rephrase that in a more ‘mean’ way,” Kurt cleared his throat, “I don’t cook for people who aren’t me.”

“Sounds selfish,” Ron challenged his friend, “what about when you have kids?”

“Ew,” Kurt shuddered, “no.”

“And it’s not a matter of chance with us,” Charlie walked up to Kurt and kissed him on the cheek, “we’re certain.”

“People with children don’t enjoy the same luxuries as those who aren’t pinned down by anything,” Kurt shook his head, “I want a proficient grasp of multiple disciplines of magic, I want to travel, I want to write several books, I want freedom.” He crossed his arms, “children don’t fit that picture.”

“What about Charlie?” Ron countered, “do you cook for him?”

Kurt smiled at his boyfriend, “the opportunity hasn’t presented itself.”

“You’ve been here for more than two weeks,” Ron shook his head, “what have you been eating?”

“There’s a little bistro down the road,” Charlie slipped into the seat opposite him, “they have an amazing selection of Italian dishes.”

“And on nights we’re too lazy to walk down the road-”

“If you say you live on your love then I’m going to throw up.”

“No,” Kurt chuckled, “that level of cheesiness is beyond our scope.”

“Well,” Charlie tilted his head from side to side, “is it?”

“It certainly is,” Kurt snapped, “I was going to say that Charlie cooks.” Kurt gave up on offering him a sandwich and slid into the seat beside Charlie, “So, why are you here Ron?”

“You’re not taking I missed you as an excuse?”

“You always miss me when I’m gone,” Kurt nodded, “it makes your life feel wrong, but this is the first time that you’ve actively sought me out.”

“Well,” Ron took several deep breaths, “everything is going fine, I’ve forgiven my family for doing nothing-”

“Thank you.” Charlie glared at him.

“You’re welcome,” Ron dismissed his brother, “but… I’m scared.”

“Scared?” Kurt stared at him expectantly, “what are you afraid of?”

“It doesn’t matter!” Ron slammed his open palms on the table and got to his feet, “I’m in Gryffindor, I shouldn’t be afraid!”

“Did you people grow up in a repressive Gryffindor themed regime?” Kurt looked from Ron to Charlie, “because that is the only explanation I can think of for why you’re so stoked on Gryffindor.”

“You wouldn’t understand-”

“Because I wasn’t fortunate enough to be inducted into the cult of foolhardiness?”

“No,” Ron grumbled.

“Then make me understand why you actually think the house system is this literal,” Kurt took his hand and Ron felt warm inside, “because other than naivety I hope you’ve outgrown, I don’t understand what it is.”

“I’m…” Ron let out a defeated sigh, “I have to stand up be counted but… it doesn’t feel natural. How does doing the right thing not feel natural?”

“Because mum told us we should always be brave?” Charlie’s eyes swam with empathy, “that Gryffindors and Prewetts face danger bravely? That her brothers had died to stop You-know-who?” Ron mumbled an agreement, “she was wrong. They should have been afraid, if they had been a little more fearful then Ming Prewett might have a father.”

“Deep,” Ron tried to force a chuckle, but his body did not cooperate.

Charlie shook his head, “fear is your body’s way of letting you know that there’s danger, without it you die.”

“The house system also isn’t set in stone,” Kurt smiled gently and warmed his insides again.

“It’s flexible,” Charlie agreed.

“If that hat took only our most dominant traits into consideration then Neville would be in Ravenclaw or Slytherin,” Kurt smiled broadly, “it might not have been outwardly obvious at first but sweet Admetus loves to hit the books, he’s also driven by sense of self-preservation; he asked to be in Gryffindor like his father because he thought it would make his grandmother proud.”

“Should I be jealous?”

“I’ll say it again, you should always be jealous,” Kurt rolled his eyes, “Neville has navigated his life in a manner that would secure him the best possible outcome, that is the core of the Slytherin house ethos.”

“Bill would have been in Ravenclaw,” Charlie added with a shrug, “so would Percy. I’d have been in Hufflepuff but it felt wrong to be in any house but Gryffindor, the hat takes that into consideration.”

“Cedric was prime Gryffindor A-grade beef,” Kurt shrugged, “Finn was silly but he’d have been at home in Gryffindor as well.”

“You could have been in Ravenclaw,” Charlie beamed at Kurt, “I’m glad you’re a little bit evil though.”

“Stop it,” Kurt blushed, and Ron had to stifle a giggle.

“I will not,” Charlie had lowered his voice and moved his face closer to Kurt’s, Ron cleared his throat to remind them that he was still there.

“A friend of mine once said ‘It’s one thing when a brave man stands up and fights, but it’s something special when a fearful man stands up to defend what is right’.”

“Tracey Davies?” Ron guessed.

“No,” Kurt shook his head with glaring disappointment, “you said that.”

“I did?” Ron tried to remember being that insightful, blushing at his willingness to credit another with his wisdom.

“Do you know what I once told Harry Potter?”

“No,” Ron shook his head.

“It’s not about being chosen, it’s about what you choose,” Kurt’s smile warmed the room, “do you think I was chosen to stand opposed to the Dark Lord? There was no divine anointing of us as his enemies, we all made the choice at some point.” Kurt tilted his head and sadness filled his eyes, but his smile stayed fixed in place but the warmth drained, “I was just looking out for you idiots, the Dark Lord only became my enemy when he killed Cedric.”

“but the Chamber of Secrets-”

“Hermione and Finn were in danger as muggle-borns,” Kurt shrugged, “and it was also a fun puzzle to solve” Kurt chuckled and the warmth returned to his smile, “the philosopher’s stone was a test of my wits, and in third year I gave literally zero fucks about Sirius Black’s escape.”

Ron narrowed his gaze and squared up with Kurt, “What if he hadn’t killed Cedric?”

“I don’t know,” Kurt shrugged, pulling his hand away and resting it on his lap, “if he hadn’t killed Cedric, then everything would be different.” Kurt was silent for a moment, “this wouldn’t affect me the same way, I’d still be reluctantly following Harry’s lead and fixing what you guys break but I don’t think I’d have as big a target on my back.”

“Bellatrix would still be after you,” Ron suggested.

Kurt shook his head, “I only played up my true parentage to show people that your genetic history has bearing on where you choose to do going forward.” Kurt chuckled to himself, “I’d be someone completely different, I could have moved and transferred to new school in country where they didn’t have a Dark Lord problem.”

The room was silent for a moment, a thick tension hanging over them. Kurt turned to Charlie with a small smile on his face, “I sound awful.”

Charlie pulled him in closer, “you said it yourself, you’d be a different person. I don’t know that person, I know you.”

“You guys are so cute it’s disgusting,” Ron rolled his eyes.

~0~

_Harry:_

Harry was nervous and was pacing a bald spot into Aunt Petunia’s carpet. He had convinced himself that introducing Lisa to his Aunt was a good idea and the day had come, it had to be now or never because the dining room would be packed away tomorrow for the Dursley’s to go into hiding.

“You afraid your imaginary girlfriend won’t show?” Dudley tilted his head curiously, despite his choice in vocabulary there was no malice in his tone.

“I’m nervous,” Harry answered in a civil tone, “what if Aunt Petunia doesn’t like her.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” Dudley smiled broadly, “she definitely won’t like her, mum doesn’t like anyone.”

“Thank you for that Dudley,” Harry shook his head, “real comforting.”

“It should be,” the boy stared at him as if he were stupid from where he sat blocking the staircase, “you can relax because there’s no impressing mum.”

The doorbell rang at exactly six and Harry was obstructer by Aunt Petunia’s slender arm when he moved to answer, “I am the hostess, I get the door.”

Harry heard his aunt gasp but couldn’t see what was going on because she was blocking his view, but he heard Lisa speaking, “Good evening, I’m Lisa.”

“Please,” Aunt Petunia turned to allow Lisa to enter, “come in dear.”

Dudley gasped as well, it took all of Harry not to smirk smugly. Lisa was dressed in a modest floral summer dress with her hair cascading in soft strawberry blonde curls; Harry looked from her to Aunt Petunia, who was also wearing a floral summer dress, and was awed by the similarities between the two blue eyed women. Aunt Petunia cleared her throat with contempt and Dudley pushed past Harry to shake Lisa’s hand.

“Lisa,” Harry shook the fog from his mind, “thank you for coming, welcome to our home.”

“There are drinks in the lounge,” Dudley moved to usher her into the next room but Aunt Petunia held him back, Lisa was too good for Harry but not good enough for Dudley.

Lisa turned to Aunt Petunia, “my mother instilled in me that one must always arrive with a gift for the hostess.”

Lisa opened her clutch and pulled out a beautifully wrapped bottle of wine. Aunt Petunia gave her a tight-lipped smile, she was in two minds; Lisa was behaving exactly as a guest should, but she had pulled the bottle from a purse too small to hold a bottle of wine. Harry waited to see how his aunt would react.

Her smile turned kind, “thank you dear.”

“You have a lovely home,” Lisa smiled politely, “I love the crown moulding, is it original?”

“Yes,” Aunt Petunia nodded enthusiastically, “the fittings are original but I have updated the space myself. The wallpaper-”

“Is Graham and Brown,” Lisa gushed and Harry wasn’t sure who he was seeing. She suddenly turned to Harry, “Your Aunt has been on her feet all day, might you prepare a drink for her.” Harry nodded, unsure if Lisa or Kurt had shown up for dinner when she turned back to Aunt Petunia, “You have exquisite taste.”

“Thank you,” she smiled broadly, but it was different from her normal guest smile. That smile always seemed forced to Harry, today seemed more natural. Harry poured each of the women in his life a glass of chardonnay, when he handed Aunt Petunia her glass she giggled girlishly, “oh, this early.”

“You deserve it,” Lisa encouraged her.

Harry nodded his agreement, “As Kurt always says, wine is just water Jesus has been to.”

“Oh, that Kurt is so… eccentric,” Harry watched Lisa but she didn’t react to the dog-whistle. Kurt would have said something, even if it was a back handed comeback. Aunt Petunia took a sip of her wine and giggled like she was being so bad, “So Lisa, what is it your parents do?”

“My parents are in retail,” Lisa smiled politely, “they own a bookshop.”

“In…” Aunt Petunia’s voice trailed off.

“Sussex,” Lisa nodded, disabusing his aunt of the idea that her parents were anything short of normal, “we’re quite close to the university.”

Aunt Petunia’s smile returned, “Harry’s uncle is the director of a drill making company, I’m not sure if you’re familiar with Grunnings.”

“Am I ever,” Lisa giggled politely, “you’d think those bits put the shelves up for my father, he’s always raving about how hard it is to find a quality drill bit.” She took a swig of her wine, “if my mother knew what drill bit was, I’m sure she’d do the same.”

“Unfortunately,” Aunt Petunia bowed her head, “Mr Dursley will not be joining us this evening. He had a prior commitment.” Harry held back a guffaw at how Aunt Petunia had smoothed down the callous way in which Uncle Vernon had stated that he had no interest in meeting any of his freak friends. She turned to him, “Harry’s father was a man of no profession.”

Kurt had taught Harry the difference between being unemployed and having no profession, the latter meaning that you were too rich to work. Harry had been quick to share his newfound knowledge with Aunt Petunia, he saw how it had elevated his parents in his eyes- the same way the Hummel’s wealth had for Kurt.

Aunt Petunia checked her watch and cleared her throat, “Let’s be seated for dinner.”

She moved to the kitchen and left them alone with Dudley, Lisa turned to Harry, “How am I doing?”

“Well,” Harry nodded encouragingly, “so well, I thought you were Kurt in disguise.”

She shook her head, “I did try to channel his ability to flatter his way into anyone’s good books.”

“You’re pretty and smart?” Dudley looked confused, “what are you doing with Harry?”

Lisa chuckled, “I’m not sure how to answer that.”

“Look at him,” Dudley shook his head, “He’s scrawny.”

“I quite like his slender build,” Lisa smirked”, and the message was received as it was intended, “and Harry is very powerful wizard.”

They took their designated seats and his cousin glowered at the pair. Harry filled everyone’s glass with the red Aunt Petunia was letting breath, the silence that hung in the room was thick but not entirely uncomfortable.

It was Lisa who broke the silence, “have you gotten something to wear to the wedding?”

“Wedding?” Dudley’s eyes grew wide.

“A friend of mine is getting married,” Harry explained, his cousin’s relief was visible, “I was going to ask Kurt to pick something out…” Harry’s voice trailed off when Lisa glared at him, “but then I remembered that his taste isn’t as good as yours, so obviously I should ask you.”

“Oh,” she pretended to be surprised, “I suppose I could have a look and see if there’s a certain three piece Hugo Boss that would pair beautifully with my blue Valentino.”

“I’ll give you my key,” Harry nodded, “you should get yourself some new shoes too, you deserve it.” he smiled, “I’ll go see if Aunt Petunia needs any help.”

Harry made a swift exit, he had almost gotten himself in trouble over something as trivial as a suit. Aunt Petunia handed him two plates of Beef Wellington, Mashed potatoes and asparagus in jarringly different portion sizes. Harry served the overfilled plate to Dudley and the more modest one to Lisa, Aunt Petunia placed a plate in front of him and took her seat opposite him- she left Uncle Vernon’s seat at the head of the table empty.

“This is quite inviting Mrs Dursley,” Lisa smiled politely before taking her first bite, “it’s so rich.”

“My secret is a thin layer of butter between every layer,” Aunt Petunia boasted.

“Mum,” Dursley chided her, “it’s not a secret if you tell people.”

“Lisa won’t tell anyone,” she dismissed her son’s concern, “will you Lisa?”

“Not a soul,” she agreed.

“I heard of Professor Dumbledore’s passing,” Aunt Petunia shook he head, “unthinkable to die in that way.”

All three of them gaped at her, Harry had never heard her acknowledge anything about the wizarding world and here she was showing intimate knowledge of it. Lisa spoke for him once more, “it was quite frightening to have it happen the way it did, on the school grounds while we were there.”

“Unthinkable,” Aunt Petunia nodded, “to think all of this is happening again… I love this house and now I have to leave it.” she was silent for a moment, “I know that it’s just a house, but this is where I built my family and raised my… my son.”

“It’ll be over soon enough, and you’ll be able to comeback,” Harry tried to sound comforting.

“I can’t imagine what it must be like to be losing your home,” Lisa shook her head, “we all know it’s for the best but this isn’t just a house, the walls are imbued with the milestones of your life here.”

“It’s just stuff next to your life, they say,” she shook her head, “but it’s more than just stuff, I got this crockery after Dudley smashed the last set because he didn’t get the new transparent Gameboy the day it was released.”

Dudley chuckled, “good times.”

“Eating on this set reminds me of how much my Dudikins has grown,” she smiled, and pointed at an ugly painting in the foyer, “Harry hates that painting, has hated it since the day he arrived. Used to drive me crazy, making it disappear all the time.”

“There is a lot of history in this house,” Lisa agreed.

Aunt Petunia nodded solemnly, then she perked up, “are we all ready for pudding? I made a chocolate torte with a swiss meringue topping, it was Harry’s mother’s favourite.”

She left the statement hanging and a smirk spread across her face as if to say ‘and now she’s dead and can’t have any’. Harry cleared the table and returned from the kitchen with the cake stand in hand.


	2. Chapter 2

Kurt’s attention was pulled by knocking on the kitchen door as he was walking from the bathroom. He considered ignoring it but knew that it had to be important for someone to interrupt his vacation. His obligation to the rebellion compelled him to answer the door, hoping that he could resolve the issue swiftly so that he could enjoy his last afternoon of romantic bliss.

Disappointment flooded through Kurt’s body as soon as he opened, he felt bad that this was his reaction to his friend. Hermione stood there on the cottage’s kitchen stoop sobbing and Kurt couldn’t help rolling his eyes as he stepped aside to let her into the cottage. She sniffled loudly as she entered the kitchen and tried several times to start speaking but her thoughts failed to form into anything resembling the English language.

“Kurt?” Charlie called from the bedroom.

“Hermione’s here,” Kurt smiled politely, “because I don’t deserve happiness.”

“Oh,” Hermione seemed to realise, for the first time, that Kurt was wrapped only in a negligee and she was interrupting, “I can come back later.”

“No,” Kurt shook his head, “it was in bad taste to break in someone else’s bed.” Kurt pulled his best friend into a hug, “now that you’ve found your words, tell me what happened.”

“I left it for today,” Hermione sobbed, “they got on the red eye.”

“Oh,” Kurt cupped her face in his hands, wiping away her tears as they fell, “you poor baby, let’s have a cup of tea and you can tell me all about it.” she shook her head, “or not.”

“Harry says his aunt liked Lisa,” Hermione hiccupped as she pulled herself toward herself.

“Lisa informed me,” Kurt agreed, “apparently, it was a very strange night.” Kurt stopped short of putting the kettle to boil, “I just replaced everything in here, can we have tea later?”

“We’re about to fight Death Eaters all through England,” Hermione gaped, “this could be my last meal.”

“Mrs Weasley was adamant that she would serve dinner,” Kurt shook his head, “she would have vultures rip your liver out if you declined a portion.”

“Fine,” Hermione huffed. She was quiet for a moment, Kurt waited for her to be comfortable enough to speak again. After letting the moment stretch longer than was comfortable, she made eye contact with him, “so, you’re sexually active, tell me about that.”

“That’s not any of your business,” Kurt shook his head.

Hermione scoffed, “I’m your best friend! We share everything! I told you about mufftown!”

“Because you’re a dumb bitch,” Kurt shook his head, “I’m not giving you a blow by blow of how things went down, that is very high on my list of things that aren’t happening.”

“You don’t have to pretend for me,” Charlie smirked, leaning against the door frame in just a pair of jeans, “you’re going to tell her anyway. So, tell her.”

He pulled on his shirt and both teens tilted their heads to drink in the way his muscles rippled when he lifted his arms. Hermione’s mouth fell open, “You had that on top of you?”

“I was on top a few times myself,” Kurt bit his lower lip and wagged a suggestive brow.

“Is that all you two did for three weeks?”

“We also read quite a few books,” Charlie countered, he stepped up to Kurt and kissed him chastely on the cheek, “expanded our world views, promised to travel and planned our lives together.” He pulled Kurt’s head down and kissed him on the forehead, “I’m going to go set up and meet you there.”

“Of course, I will see you later,” as soon as he turned around, Kurt gestured for Hermione to watch. The pair broke out in a fit of giggles, “That makes it worth the fact that he can fit into a baby carrier.”

“I heard that,” Charlie shouted, throwing jeans and a t-shirt at him.

“What?” Kurt gaped at him, “Am I supposed to pretend that you’re tall?”

Charlie stormed back into the room, wagging an angry index finger in Kurt’s face, “just for that, I’m going to die tonight.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Kurt stared him down, “not when you’ve committed yourself to being Bill’s best man.”

“Maybe letting people down and breaking my promises is my new mode of operation.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Kurt smirked.

“Goodbye Hermione,” Charlie kissed him on the cheek again, “later.”

He picked up their luggage and disapparated. Hermione looked at Kurt in awe, “You two have a very strange relationship.”

“We’re very different people,” Kurt shrugged, “the little bit where our personalities overlap is amplified when we’re together.”

“I see that,” Hermione nodded, her shock not gone, “you two enable each other.”

“Well,” Kurt shrugged, “there is more to Charles than meets the eye.”

“Is that so?” Hermione’s lips twisted into wicked grin, “more, you say.”

“That’s enough on that matter,” Kurt scolded her.

She shook her head, “you have to tell me, that’s how this friendship works.”

“Maybe,” Kurt crossed his arms, “it isn’t working anymore.”

“Does protecting your modesty mean that much to you?”

“I don’t feel right,” Kurt shook his head, “I think some details are too intimate to share.”

“Well, he whisked you off the platform and brought you here…” Hermione put her face in a cradle made of the backs of her hands, “then what?”

“He brought me here,” Kurt dropped into the chair opposite hers, “and poured me a glass of champagne as soon as we arrived.” A blush creeped up Kurt’s neck, “I was tired from the train ride, so we took a bath and went to bed.”

“I don’t follow,” Hermione shook her head.

“I took off all my clothes and got in the tub,” Kurt smirked, “Charles joined me…”

“Ellipses?”

“Yes,” Kurt nodded coyly, “then he carried me to the bedroom, I didn’t have time to put on clothes before… ellipses.”

“Another ellipses so soon after the first?” Hermione gaped at him, “you must have been exhausted.”

“An ellipses first thing in the morning,” Kurt pursed his lips but the urge to smirk was too strong, and his lips settled on a middle ground, “it’s quite the refreshing experience.”

Hermione chuckled, “just three weeks of that?”

“We read a few dozen books too,” Kurt blushed more violently, “while I was in his arms, or he was in mine.”

Hermione got to her feet, “I have plans to… ellipses with Viktor, I was hoping to do it tomorrow before things go pear shaped.”

“Because things are going and you don’t want to die a virgin or-”

“No,” Hermione shook her head, “I’m grown, I’m ready to take this step and I want to take it with Viktor.”

“Well,” Kurt shrugged, “who am I to judge your choice to become sexually active.”

“Yes,” Hermione turned her nose up, “I am woman, hear me moan!”

“If need be, you can do anything,” Kurt teased, “You are strong, you are invincible!”

“I am woman!” Hermione exclaimed with a giggle.

“Okay woman, let me put my pants on and you can roar allover London,” Kurt got to his feet and stepped into his pants, took off the negligee and pulled on a t-shirt, “where are my shoes?”

“Here they are,” Hermione handed him a pair of running shoes, “isn’t this a little dressed down for you?”

Kurt shrugged, “I’m trying my hand at pragmatism over style.”

“How’s it working for you?”

Kurt stepped back and twirled on the spot, “You tell me.”

“Damnit,” Hermione groaned, “I’d convinced myself that it was all bells and whistles but you’re really pretty.”

“And don’t you ever forget it,” Kurt held his hand out for his best friend, “come with me.”

She stepped forward and extended her hand before hesitating, “you’re not going to kiss me, right?”

“In your dreams,” Kurt rolled his eyes and grabbed her by the wrist, they side-by-side apparated to the suburban splendor of Little Whinging. Kurt and Hermione stood on the curb holding hands for a moment longer than they needed to, “time to save Harry Potter… again.”

“At least you don’t have to become him,” Hermione shrugged, letting go of Kurt’s hand, “I’m going to be short.”

“You and Harry are the same height,” Kurt quirked a curious brow.

“Which is short for a boy,” Hermione countered, taking off ahead of him, “which one is it?”

“That one,” Kurt pointed to the house without a station wagon parked in the driveway, “number four.” They followed the path to the front door, “they have a lovely lawn.”

“You are so domestic,” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Do you think it’s Kentucky bluegrass?” Kurt stared down at the lawn, “ours isn’t this perfect, this can’t be the same strain.”

“Kurt,” Hermione called for him from the doorway, where she and harry were waiting for him.

“Hello Harry Potter,” Kurt smiled politely, “your aunt has a lovely lawn, what species of grass is this?”

“Is he quite alright?”

“I’m well,” Kurt entered the vacant foyer, “thank you.”

“Anyone else here?” Harry shook his head, “pity, I wanted to get this over with.”

“Nymphadora and Remus got married last week,” Kurt announced, “it was a cute little ceremony at Andromeda’s.”

“What?” Harry gaped at him.

“Just close family,” Kurt explained, “actually, it was the couple and Nymphadora’s parents. I was Andromeda’s guest.” Kurt observed the crown moulding as he spoke, “they decided against a large wedding because of the times and you couldn’t make it.”

“I would have gone!”

“How?” Kurt quirked a curious brow, “you can’t apparate because you’re still underage and the ministry has made it illegal to bring a portkey anywhere near here. You’re being monitored, remember?”

“The whole reason we’re here,” Hermione corroborated Kurt’s claims, she stepped to the door under the stairs, “is this the cupboard in question?” Harry nodded, “Kurt, you are truly an asshole.”

“Don’t make it real,” Kurt shook his head, “you’re ruining the joke.”

“Yes Hermione,” Harry scolded, “you’re ruining the joke.”

The doorbell rang and Harry moved to answer it but Kurt stopped him, “what if like vampires in books, the act of opening the door to them breaks all the wards you have set up?”

Harry looked confused, “what wards?”

“You didn’t put up any wards?”

“I thought Dumbledore had,” Harry shrugged.

“Those would have been deactivated when he died,” Kurt shook his head, “same way my baby grand disappeared when the Headmaster died.”

Harry shrugged again, “I guess I got lucky.”

“This is why you’re famous for being alive,” Kurt shook his head, “it confounds the mind that you’re still doing it.”

“Mean,” Harry gasped.

“Could one of you open the bloody door,” Alastor Moody called from the porch. Harry opened for him and a convoy of people filed in through the foyer and into the empty lounge, “Hummel, Granger. Good to see you’re already here, all we’re missing is Tonks and Lupin.”

Kurt shook his head, “they can’t make it.”

“What?”

“It’ll be fine,” Kurt smiled comfortingly, “seven is just as good as eight.”

“It’s less,” Fred pointed out.

“Thank you for pointing that out,” Kurt glared at spiffily dressed Weasley, “your numeracy is improving.” Kurt turned to the group as a whole, “I won’t become a Potter, Charlie and I can take their places. Simple.”

“Seven is supposed to be a powerful number,” Alastor agreed, “I guess it’s some kind of omen.”

He produced the same hipflask that Barty Crouch Jr had used when he was posing as the former auror. Harry shook his head, “What is going on? Why is Kurt talking about ‘becoming’ a Potter?”

“Six of us are going to drink Polyjuice,” George explained.

“And become ugly beyond compare,” Fred continued.

“Then we’ll travel to seven different locations,” Hermione picked up the thread.

Ron snatched a hair from Harry’s head, “then we’ll have a dinner party afterwards if we survive.”

“No,” Harry shook his head, “that’s too-”

“Shut up,” Kurt raised a silencing finger, “nobody wants to hear it, this is how things are happening.” He crossed his arms, “it will confuse the Death Eaters and improve the odds of everyone’s survival.”

“This way they’ll be forced to separate and give us a better chance at beating them one on one,” Ron explained, “as a group with one Harry, they’d work as a group to pick us off one at a time until they got to you.”

Alastor passed the flask to George, then it moved on to Fred, Hermione, Ron and Fleur. Then the former auror handed it to a short scruffy looking man, and it was Kurt’s turn to object, “who the fuck is this?”

“Mundungus Fletcher,” the man gave a small bow, “at your service.”

“Why is there an extra from a sad production of Oliver here?”

“Dung was in the original order,” Mr Weasley came to the man’s defence, “and this is his plan.”

Kurt raised his hands in surrender and the man smirked, “the original plan did call for six decoys, and it cost a pretty penny.”

“Don’t worry,” Alastor smiled as he tipped over his satchel and poured out identical sets of clothing for the Potter doubles to wear. The smile unsettled Kurt, reminding him of Barty Crouch Jr, “I’ll keep my good eye on him.”

Kurt rolled his eyes, “I am so done. Hermione?”

“Yes,” Harry answered, dressed in a lavender jumper.

“You’re with me.”

“Shouldn’t one of the older more experienced Potters be with you?” Bill queried.

“Brightest witch of the age,” Kurt pointed at Hermione and then to himself, “most powerful wizard alive.” He smiled condescendingly, “I think we’ll be fine.”

“Don’t,” Charlie shook his head and the taller brother retracted without a word.

“Then Ron’s with Charlie,” Alastor Moody starter to list off the pairings, “everybody paired up?” there was a resounding agreement.

“You ready?” He asked Hermione, she moved to speak but something caught Kurt’s attention, “look, Harry Potter’s kissing Bill Weasley.”

“Gross,” Hermione chuckled.

“If the plan had gone as intended, I’d be kissing Harry Potter too,” Charlie teased, he kissed Kurt deeply and his world tilted as it always did, “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Kurt smirked and then pulled Charlie in for another kiss, “I bet you this is a hundred times better than the boy who lived could dream of doing.”

“That’s enough,” Hermione scolded them before they could go for a third lip lock.

“Wow,” Kurt shook his head with disapproval, “finally, the little green-eyed monster is revealed.”

“Hey,” Harry and Charlie chorused.

“You can’t dig on the green eyes,” Harry protested, “They’re just like my mother’s.”

“And lay off on the short jokes,” Charlie sulked.

Kurt leaned forward to whisper in his boyfriend’s ear, “You’re tall in all the ways that matter.”

“Yes, we get it,” Hermione rolled her eyes, “he’s taller in more way, let’s go.”

Kurt rolled his eyes and threw his arm over Hermione’s Harry shoulder, “yes Harry, let’s go to Andromeda’s.”

“You’re not going to Andromeda’s,” Charlie rolled his eyes, “you’re going to your house.”

“Oh,” Kurt nodded, “my house is easy, it’s right here. Where are you going?”

“To Remus and Tonks’ place,” He smirked, “I’ll see you later.”

“Let’s go use expilliarmus and stupefy like we don’t know any other spells,” Hermione lead him out of the front door.

“I heard that!” Harry protested from the crowd.

“That was intentional,” Hermione called back.

“They’re making us fly,” Kurt rolled his eyes, “we could be there in an hour if we took the train.”

“On broomsticks?”

“They sourced a thestral for us.”

“If we get on the thestral, do we disappear or do we look like we’re floating in a sitting position?”

“That’s a very good question,” Kurt nodded, “most of these people saw Sirius or someone else die, we can’t ask any of them.”

“Who do you know who hasn’t seen death?”

“Almost everyone I know saw Finn die.”

“Tracey wasn’t there,” Hermione exclaimed as she mounted the thestral, “she was watching the children when Finn died, and she wasn’t there to see Sirius die.”

Kurt nodded to himself, “Her parents are both alive, I think that means she’s never seen death… I’ll have to check with her.”

“She’ll probably have seen death by the next time you see her,” Hermione shook her head, Kurt held on tightly to Harry Potter’s waist.

“Sad but true.”

“I hope this is like riding a horse,” Hermione muttered.

“Okay, nobody stops,” Alastor Moody announced, “Not till you make it to your respective destinations, not even if one of us is killed.” He got onto his handicap adjusted broomstick, “to dinner or bust.”

Kurt held back a chuckle at the silliness of the war cry, “to dinner or bust.”

Hermione nudged the thestral into motion and they took off, Kurt kept his wands at the ready. Hermione would be too busy flying to help him ward off any attackers, he needed every advantage on his side and that meant simultaneous spellcasting. Kurt didn’t expect that they would be pursued because the plan had been kept top secret, but if the Dark Lord had half the foresight Kurt had then somebody would be watching the house and dozens of Death Eaters would arrive to chase down Harry Potter.

They hadn’t been flying over the uniform suburban rooftops for long when Kurt heard a distinctly familiar cackle. The group scattered immediately; Hermione steered them in a northwesterly direction. Kurt scanned the periphery to see if they were being followed, he spotted Charlie and Harry on broomsticks on one side of them, Harry and Mr Weasley were just behind them, and above them was Hagrid’s oversized flying motorcycle with Harry in the sidecar.

“If they make us, I’ll take them out,” Kurt whispered in Hermione’s ear, “You go on to my place and we’ll meet there.”

“I don’t need to be saved,” Hermione rolled her eyed, “I am woman!”

“Not right now Hermione,” Kurt shook his head, “you’re Harry Potter and if you were the real thing then I would be expected to sacrifice myself to save you.”

“Well,” Hermione shook her head, “I’m not like that, that is not expected of you today, we’ll fight together.” Hermione moved to tuck a tuft of hair behind her ear but came up short because there was no hair there, “I won’t have you stepping in front of me, I saw what that did to you.”

“This isn’t about that,” Kurt shook his head.

“Isn’t it?”

The cackling grew louder and the Death Eaters were upon them before they’d left Little Whinging, Hermione took evasive maneuvers and the group fractured further. Kurt pointed his wand at the group that pursued them, he saw his father and uncle leading the charge. Kurt fired off a number of defensive spells, the disarming charm, but they were moving too erratically for him to make his mark.

“Did you just say expilliarmus?”

“Yes,” Kurt furrowed his brow, “why?”

“Don’t pull your punches now,” Hermione scolded him, “shoot lightening or something.”

“what if it spooks the thestral?”

“Don’t do that,” Hermione shook her head, “don’t act like you’re not afraid you’ll kill them.” She scoffed, “were you going to throw yourself to the wolves and stupefy them into submition.”

“Well…”

“You’re Kurt Elizabeth Hummel,” Hermione giggled, “bad ass and all-round good guy, nothing you do will change that.”

“I’ve stepped away from the l-”

“This isn’t the time for this conversation,” Hermione shook her head, “but you’re a good guy, now save our lives.”

“Swing back around for me,” Kurt instructed her.

He let go of Harry Potter’s waist and loosened his thigh muscles, allowing inertia to pull him off the thestral. Lightening exploded from all of his pored as he whispered his first spell, “Aresto momentum.”

His movement slowed and created the illusion that he was floating, he twisted mid air and pointed his wand at his uncle- Kurt blew the man out of the sky with little regard for what would become of the man, whether he would splatter on the A-road below them. He scanned around him for his next target and he caught sight of Thorfinn Rowle, another relative for him to attack. This one would be personal, his bleach blond distant relative was the death eater who had killed Finn.

Kurt pointed both wands at the pale man, “Aro.” Large plumes of blue flames lit up the night as Rowle tried to evade his blasts. Kurt caught sight of Hermione circling back out of the corner of one eye, and Rodolphus raising his wand out of the other. He made quick work of turning one wand to his father, throwing the large man’s flight pattern- and aim- off and allowing Hermione the opportunity to swing by and grab him by his t-shirt.

There was a display of aerial aerobics and Kurt was twisted back onto the thestral, his body regaining weight when he was settle in his seat- between Hermione and the thestral’s head, facing their rear. Thorfinn and Rodolphus were hot on their heels, still in pursuit of the boy who lived. Kurt had a better vantage in his new seat and was able to point his wands at both of the men simultaneously; firing off curse, after jinx, after Hex in an effort to throw them off. Both were agile flyers, Rodolphus’ history as a quidditch player made itself obvious in the grace with which he moved in the sky. Kurt held back a chuckle and it manifested as a smirk- he thought of his father’s prowess for, and his aversion to flying.

“Legumina,” Kurt fired the jinx from both wands and the resulting pulse of energy threw both men off their brooms and accelerated their thestral to such a speed that the beast neighed in fear. It took a while for Hermione to regain control of their flight and they were flying over London now, “land this majestic beast.”

“What?”

“just land,” Kurt insisted.

“Where?”

“Anywhere,” Kurt shrugged, “we can lose them in the city on foot, then apparate to my place and take the floo to the burrow.”

“Okay,” Hermione touched down on the rooftop of a town house at the end of a row. They disembarked and Kurt took Harry’s hand, jumping off the roof while the thestral flew off to whatever pastures if called its own. He breathed deeply, relaxing for the first time since they’d left the Dursley’s house, “Aresto momentum.”

They touched down on the pavement in front of the unknown house, Kurt didn’t recognise the neighbourhood but without letting go of the hand he held in his own he took of at a run. They tried to keep to the shadows, looking to the sky to see if any of their pursuers were still following them. Hermione pulled him into a dark snicket and stood him up straight against the wall, she looked dead in his eyes as if she were searching for something and Kurt turned away from her.

They apparated and they were in the formal lounge of his home, Hermione held his face so he was looking Harry Potter dead in the eye, “what is wrong with you?”

“I could have killed them,” Kurt’s voice sounded more shaken in his ears than he expected, “oh god, I probably killed them.”

“Kurt,” Hermione shook her head, “what is going on with you?”

“Oh Hermione,” his voice had steadied itself and turned to ice, “You cannot be this naïve.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Hermione shook her head.

“In a room of five people, two end up dead,” Kurt shook his head, “Draco is an emotional mess and Harry Potter doesn’t have the stones to kill… what do you think happened?”

Hermione was silent and a wicked grin twisted onto Kurt’s face, watching his features distort in Harry’s eyes. Now he held Hermione in place, looking into his eyes, “did you think Professor Snape and the Headmaster fired killing curses at the same time and both fell over dead?”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” Hermione shook her head.

“I killed Professor Dumbledore,” Kurt spoke the words to the second person ever.

“Why?”

“He asked me to,” Kurt shook his head, “and now I might have killed my father, my uncle and the man who killed Finn… I’m a killer now.”

“Did you smack your head on the pavement?”

Kurt chuckled manically, “not that I recall, no.”

“You helped the headmaster protect Draco,” Hermione held his face as she slowly melted back into herself, “tonight, you were defending yourself and me. You were pulling your punches tonight, don’t. I want to live and you should want the same.”

“I don’t feel bad,” Kurt shook his head, “this is supposed to be heart wrenching, the thought of being a killer is supposed to haunt me and fracture my soul but I feel fine.”

“And that’s why Professor Dumbledore picked you, not Harry,” Hermione smirked, “you’re wise enough to know that there’s a higher purpose.”

Kurt chuckled, “I could be a monster and you’d love me for it. Everywhere I go people die and you people cheer.”

“Killing bad people doesn’t make you bad,” Hermione shook her head, “killing good people out of necessity doesn’t make you evil, it makes you strong enough to do what has to be done.” Hermione kissed his cheek, “you don’t have to be afraid of magic or your power. When it is time for you to be afraid of yourself, I’ll let you know.”

“Yes, let me know,” Kurt nodded, “don’t put me down like Old Yeller.”

“Promise,” Hermione smiled broadly and they both let go. She got to her feet, “now, I’m going to blow smoke up your ass because you were electric out there.”

“Literally,” they chorused with a chuckle, Hermione threw a handful of floo powder into the fireplace, “the Burrow, Ottery Saint Catchpole.”

They walked into the fire hand in hand, emerging in the crowded lounge of the Burrow. Charlie flew across the room and engulfed both of them in his arms, “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Hermione flipped her hair, “we had the shortest distance-”

“And you’re last to arrive,” Ron scolded, “we were worried.”

“We’re fine,” Kurt dismissed their concern, “How did you do?”

“Mad-eye’s dead,” Charlie spoke without inflection, “Voldemort went after him first, Mundungus disapparated the moment he laid eyes on him.” Kurt gasped, “Fenrir Greyback mauled bill, they took him to St Mungo’s. He’ll be fine because Greyback wasn’t turned, but the scarring may be permanent.”

“George lost his arm,” Ron continued in the same disorienting impassive tone, “Got luck, raised his arm and the severing hex hit it instead of his throat.” He shook his head and pointed to the kitchen, “dinner is on the stove.”

Tonks got to her feet, “I’ll be mum.”

“Don’t you dare be me,” Andromeda teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Harry got to his feet, “I knew this was a bad idea the mo-”

“Shut up Harry,” Ron snapped, “You might be the chosen one but not everything is fucking about you! Nobody got hurt because of you, nobody died because of you! These people died because they believed the world could be better, you might be part of achieving that but this isn’t your fucking party.”

“I…” Harry was speechless, “What I…”

“You,” Ron walked up to his best friend and gently nudged him into the seat by his shoulders, “need to sit down and wait for supper, eleven out of fourteen of us made it through unscathed and we’ll live to fight another day.”

“this is what it felt like the last time,” Remus spoke with sombreness that filled the room, “counting ourselves after every engagement until it hurt too much to see who was missing, how many we’d lost… Alice had a notebook of charcoal sketches of all the people we’d lost.” He was silent for a moment and the solemn energy in the room sat heavy on everyone’s shoulder’s, “I wonder if she would see herself as deserving of one of those sketches.”

Kurt cleared his throat, “Alice Longbottom suffered a fate worse than death, the long goodbye.” Kurt smiled, “let us not pity the dead but rather let’s celebrate that we knew them.”

“Not every life can be celebrate as an experience shared, some deaths are meant to be mourned.”

“If I die, I want you all to celebrate me,” Ron forced a chuckle, “even if I’m as batty as Mad-eye. Tell lies about how great I was.”

“Obviously,” Kurt agreed, “Weasley is our king. You will obviously be remembered as such.”

“We’ll get Pansy to sing the song at you funeral and everything,” Hermione agreed.

“Not what I meant-”

“What song?”

“The Slytherins composed a song in Ron’s honour when he started playing quidditch,” Hermione explained.

“It’s not a thing,” Ron tried to get his brother off the trail.

“If I’m remembering correctly,” Remus spoke, giving into the energy around him, “Pansy Parkinson was quite the pill, her work will speak for itself.”

“A student of yours?” Nymphadora asked as she distributed plates of fish pie.

“She had an attitude problem,” Remus shook his head, “her schoolwork had it’s hip cocked, daring you to challenge it.”

“I want to hear this song more and more,” Charlie grinned, feeding Kurt from his plate.

Hermione shrugged, “I’m not off book with it.”

“ _Weasley cannot save a thing, he cannot block a single ring_ ,” Harry sang from his seat, “ _that’s why all the Slytherins sing, Weasley is our king!_ ”

Hermione chimed in, “ _Weasley was born in a bin, he always lets the quaffle in. Weasley will make sure we win, Weasley is our king!_ ”

Kurt rejected another spoonful of fish pie so he could sing along on the final verse, “ _Weasley is our king, Weasley is our king! He always lets the quaffle in, Weasley is our king!_ ”

“The Gryffindors tried to claim it back but it wasn’t as catchy,” Ron shook his head, “Pansy did too good a job on the original.”

“Isn’t Pansy your friend?” Charlie furrowed his brow.

“Pansy?” Remus shook his head, “Kurt was the only Slytherin I saw Ron be civil with, and even that wasn’t consistent.”

“She wasn’t my friend when she wrote the song,” Ron agreed with their former defence against the dark arts professor, “but we’ve come so far since then, the Slytherin girls are elite.”

“Amen to that,” Charlie echoed, kissing Kurt’s neck and feeding him more dinner.


	3. Chapter 3

Kurt glared at his boyfriend as he tried to make sense of what was he was being told, he shook his head, “I’m not sure I’m understanding what you’re saying.” Kurt unpacked the picnic basket onto the kitchen table, “what do you want me to do?”

“A hen night,” Charlie repeated his assertion, “for Fleur.” Kurt stared up at him vacantly, “it’s a final blow out for a bride to be-”

“Don’t explain it to me,” Kurt’s vacant stare twisted into a glare, “I know what a hen night is.”

“Right,” his boyfriend nodded, “and you know who Fleur is?”

“Yes,” Kurt nodded, “I know who Fleur Delacour is, I’ve known her longer than you have.” Kurt crossed his arms, “I’ve known her since I was with Cedric.”

“I’m not touching that,” he shook his head, “So, what’s the problem?”

“She’s not my friend,” Kurt shook his head, “this is something your friends do for you. Or at the very least, your bridesmaids.”

“Considering that the country is war torn, Fleur’s friends won’t be able to make it for the most part.”

Kurt nodded, “but why now? This is awfully last minute, like an afterthought.”

“I thought mum would have her a kitchen tea but I’m starting to think that mum doesn’t like her very much.”

Kurt shook his head, “You are so lucky you’re pretty.”

“What do my rugged good looks have to do with the matter?”

“You’re just figuring out that your mother isn’t fond of Fleur,” Kurt shook his head condescendingly, “I could have told you that ages ago.”

“It’s not like it’s obvious,” he shrugged.

“It kind of is, none of your family likes her,” Kurt rolled his eyes, “It’s not her fault, it’s not her fault.” Kurt took a moment to think of the best way to phrase his observation, “its social disconnection. She’s not accustomed to this modest lifestyle and they all think she looks down them because of her behaviours.”

“She is a bit of a snob,” Charlie shrugged.

Kurt shook his head, “she has a lifestyle to which she’s become accustomed. You don’t notice it because I don’t live here and I bring the opulence with me wherever I go.”

“No,” the young man shook his head.

“Yes,” Kurt found himself nodding his, “think about how much champagne I drink without occasion, all my dietary restrictions and how I reacted to the linens at shell cottage.”

He pondered for a moment, “So you’ll do it?”

“That’s not what I said,” Kurt stared the shorter man down, “putting together a soiree takes time and effort.”

Charlie gestured to the breakfast spread Kurt was setting up, “you pulled this together in next to no time, you can do tonight easily.”

“This is catered,” Kurt crossed his arms, “I ordered this a week ago.” Kurt cocked a hip and tilted his head, “you also turn a blind eye to my snobbery because you love me.”

“Are you going to do this for Fleur?” Charlie squared his shoulders authoritatively, “mum’s been kind of mean to her since last night.”

“Your mother is not my problem,” Kurt shook his head, “and you must think you have a penis made of Afghanistan’s most prized opium specimen if you think you can subliminally order me to do it.”

Charlie’s shoulders slumped, “that’s not what I was doing.”

“Now you think I’m stupid,” Kurt fired back.

“You’re putting words in my mouth,” Charlie shook his head.

“Oh,” Kurt tilted his head, “so now I’m manipulative.”

Charlie raised his hands in surrender, “I’m not playing any games! I just want to do something nice for my brother with the boys because he was mauled by a werewolf, and I thought you could do something for Fleur so she doesn’t feel left out.”

“I’m a boy,” Kurt narrowed his gaze, “why would you assume I wouldn’t want to go bar hopping with you? You’re taking Ron and Harry, correct?” the young man nodded, “but not me?”

“Oh my god,” Charlie grabbed tufts of his hair with one hand and shoved his other in his mouth to muffle a scream. He took a few deep breaths, “you don’t want to go bar hopping with me, my brothers and Harry.”

“Harry, my brothers and me,” Kurt corrected.

“Same difference!”

“I don’t,” Kurt nodded.

“Then why are you being impossible?”

“Partly because it’s fun,” Kurt shrugged, stepping closer to the shorter boy and laying a hand on his tense shoulder, “Partly because you look so good when you’re angry, and partly because this last-minute request means that I either have to do everything myself or risk ruining my relationship with my vendors.”

Charlie let out a defeated sigh, “will you do it?”

“I’ll do it,” Kurt nodded, “not for your mother, not for Bill, and not for Fleur.” Kurt fell into his arms, “but for you. For you, I will throw Fleur Delacour a hen night, but I won’t enjoy it”

“Because you’re the nicest person ever,” Charlie kissed him softly.

“And don’t you forget it,” Kurt purred.

The kitchen door swung open and in came Mr Weasley, followed by Fred fussing over George, and brought up by Mrs Weasley and Fleur competing over who would fuss over Bill.

“Good morning Kurt,” Mr Weasley smiled broadly, “Hipster Weasley.”

“Good morning all,” Kurt stepped out of Charlie’s personal space, “who would like some tea?”

“Tea would be lovely,” Fred and George chorused, “thank you.”

“Ron, Harry!” Kurt called out for the pair, despite having sent Hermione up to get them a while ago. They appeared instantly from the lounge, “oh, there you are.”

“Yeah,” Ron nodded, “we didn’t want to interrupt world war three.”

Kurt glared at his gangly friend, “brew a pot of tea for everyone.” He turned to Harry, “get the crockery and cutlery ready.”

“Ready for what? I haven’t gotten breakfast started yet,” Mrs Weasley asked, turning from Bill for the first time. Her eyes grew wide and there was a flicker of anger in her awe, “Kurt, you shouldn’t have. I would have made breakfast for everyone.”

“It wasn’t an issue,” Kurt brushed off her gushing, even when it never came, “I simply had to pick it up from the caterer.”

“And we have to do the real work,” Ron grumbled.

“Do you understand how laborious deciding on a menu with a caterer is?” Kurt quirked a curious brow, “they always want to show off and upsell you, even when you simply want a family style breakfast.”

“There are pastries staring me in the face,” Bill’s voice sounded spacey when he spoke.

“Oh, please,” Kurt blushed, “help yourselves. There’s enough to feed an army of Ron’s.” he turned to George, “may I?”

“Please do,” the boy held out his stump. He wagged a suggestive brow at Kurt, “sexy, right?”

“However could I resist a man with battle scars,” Kurt teased as he analysed the below the elbow amputation, “this is a clean cut, they didn’t try to reattach the arm?”

“It died instantly,” George shook his head, “a result of the curse, they had to debride the stump to prevent infection. Doctor said he got good margins, whatever that means.”

“Can you still feel it?” Kurt’s mind was moving a mile a minute, “I read somewhere that people feel a phantom limb for years after amputation.”

“Is that what it is?” George gaped at him, “I’ve had a cramp in my little finger all morning, I thought I was losing my mind.”

Kurt produced an appointment card, “I checked the directory and found the contact details of the guy who made Alastor’s leg, I made an appointment for Wednesday morning.”

“What for?”

“This is your wand arm,” Kurt explained, “what was your plan going forward?”

“I hadn’t thought of it,” George shrugged, “I lost the arm last night.”

“They build the prosthetic around your wand,” Kurt explained, his excitement swimming in his tone, “that way you can use magic as you had been up to now… well, almost.”

“You use both hands to cast spells,” George furrowed his brow.

“I have a greater technical skillset than you,” Kurt chuckled, “I was using my right hand for wandless magic already, using a wand was a step back for me.”

“Wow,” George chortled, “I feel attacked by the assertion that you’re a better wizard than me.”

“I have almost three times the number of OWLs you do,” Kurt smirked, “and I actually finished my sixth year. Whether or not I’m a better wizard was not up for debate.”

“Kurt,” Hermione’s eyes were wide as she held the Turkish coffee pot, “can I have a word? In Private.”

“Of course,” Kurt nodded, “I have some news to share as well.” She nudged her head in the direction of the lounge and he followed her, as soon as the door closed he spoke, “me first.”

“Alright,” she nodded, “go.”

“I’m throwing Fleur a hen night as a favour to my boyfriend,” Kurt rolled his eyes, “I’m not sure how that will affect your plans with Viktor.”

“Okay,” Hermione nodded, she summoned a piece of paper and handed it to Kurt, “this.”

“This is the code to, or possibly coordinates of, the deplorable word,” Kurt nodded to himself, “what about it?”

“It’s a phone number,” Hermione explained, “the area code is for the greater Oxford area, a cemetery on Headington Road.”

“What?” Kurt shook his head, “that scroll is from before the invention of the first telephone, how could that be possible?”

“We live in a world with magic and you want to know how it is possible that someone knew something before it happened,” Hermione glared at him as if he were stupid.

“Nothing about the deplorable word has made sense this far,” Kurt shrugged, “it evades simplicity, it makes sense that the solution would be something that we’d be least likely to think of… and more sense that we’re supposed to find it now.”

“How do you mean?”

“For centuries,” Kurt shook his head, “these numbers meant nothing, and in our age they suddenly mean something.”

“The White Witch paid a terrible price to learn the deplorable word,” Hermione warned.

“I’ve so little left to lose,” Kurt shook his head, “and if that loss means the end of this war then it will be worth it.”

“The need of the many outweigh the needs of the few,” Hermione nodded, “but I need you, Charlie needs you, your family needs you.” She took his hand, “let’s not be hasty in our pursuit of the truth.”

“We’re going to need to get a list of everyone who was ever buried there, like ever,” Kurt rolled his eyes, “by the time we’ve cross-referenced that with every possible wielder of the deplorable word’s ancestry, we’ll have exhausted our other options.”

~0~

Kurt came down the stairs dressed in a skin-tight, all black ensemble that ignored his claims that he would be adopting a more modest dress sense. He had his purse in hand, ready to tip handsomely for the convenience of pulling together a spread and providing wait staff on such short notice.

Hermione had her arms crossed and was scowling at him from her seat at the bar, Kurt walked up to her and snatched the champagne glass from its resting place at her side, “I hope that’s not what you’re wearing.”

“What does it matter what I wear?” she rolled her eyes, trying to reach for her drink before relenting and waving over the barman, “my sausage fest has been cancelled.”

“Mandy and Tracey will be here,” Kurt smirked, “supporting me through this venture.”

“So,” Hermione called for another glass of champagne as Kurt downed hers, “you don’t need me sober.”

Kurt shook his head, “in forty-five minutes, Tracey is going to suggest that we move this party to the streets. Where we’re going to bump into a certain Bulgarian bon-bon.”

Hermione’s face lit up and Kurt snatched away her fresh glass and sipped deeply as her mind worked, “you didn’t.”

“Your room will be decked out with rose petals, chocolates, champagne, condoms and lubricant,” Kurt wagged a suggestive brow, “so you need to keep it tight so you can sweep that eastern European stud off his feet and convince him to come back to your place to help you practice your sword swallowing.”

She got to her feet and took off in a sprint, she stopped short of the stairs and turned back. She hugged Kurt tightly and kissed his cheek, “thank you.”

“Watch the make-up,” Kurt chastised her, “and don’t thank me, I couldn’t have stood being on the chase with you all sulky.”

Kurt watched her scurry off, following at a more dignified pace after speaking to the Head Waitress. Kurt stood in the formal lounge, waiting for the wood in the fireplace to wake in the plume of emerald flames that would announce the arrival of his friends. Kurt thought of how even this weekend, their last normal time before Harry turned seventeen and they could go adventuring, was bogged down with formal pleasantries and proper behaviours which he knew he would grow to remember when he was living on the run.

The first to arrive was Tracey Davies, she had a bottle of tequila and whole pineapple with her, “Sup slut!”

“Tracey Anne,” Kurt smiled broadly at his friend, “welcome to my home.”

“This is nice,” she looked around the room, “it’s so white.”

“Thank you,” Kurt smiled politely, “why do you have a pineapple with you?”

“Tabasco too,” Tracey nodded, “instead of salt and lime, pineapple and tabasco for the tequila shots. We’ll have everyone in bed by midnight.”

“You are a heaven send,” Kurt grinned at her.

“Don’t thank me,” she shook her head, “this is all Willa.”

“Well,” Kurt pursed his lips, “pass on my thanks to Mrs Davies.”

“Ms Rosier,” Tracey corrected, “she’s a feminist.”

“I think I’d really love your mother.”

“That’s what we all think,” Tracey rolled her eyes, “until you meet her.”

“Mandy Brocklehurst and her beautiful breasts are in the house,” the girl announced, pulling their attention. She did a little dance and then donned her standard deportment, “And I brought Lisa who was very upset that you didn’t invite her.”

“Explain yourself,” Lisa demanded, her arms crossed, “Finn said all partners are created equally.”

“I thought you’d want to spend time with your boyfriend before he turns seventeen tomorrow and disappears,” Kurt shrugged, “Potentially forever.”

“It’s not like it’s Neville’s birthday or anything,” Mandy rolled her eyes.

“You spent all day with him,” Kurt scolded her, “and he won’t be leaving you to face his death, he’s Head Boy.”

“And I,” Tracey smiled broadly with stars in her eyes, “his Head Girl.”

“If this bitch comes for my man, she will make a racist out of me,” Mandy warned her friend, “and I will become a Death Eater too.”

Tracey waved off Mandy’s threats, “we’re pretending to be concerned about Harry Potter being sad and alone.”

“Don’t worry about Harry Potter,” Lisa smirked, “I have that covered, if you know what I mean.”

“I just threw up a little in my mouth,” Kurt groaned.

“I want to stab my ears for hearing that,” Tracey shuddered as she handed over her supplies and Kurt instructed the staff.

“Wow,” Lisa gaped, “way to shame me for embracing and owning my sexuality like the feminist I am.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you having sex,” Tracey shook her head, “there’s also nothing wrong with you enjoying sex.”

“I have sex,” Mandy shrugged, “Kurt has sex.”

Tracey moved to interject, “Kurt-”

“Kurt will correct her when she’s wrong,” he smirked suggestively.

“You didn’t,” Tracey grinned spectacularly, “you did.”

“I am grown,” Kurt preened at the attention.

“The double standard!” Lisa protested.

Tracey shook her head, “No double standard, Hipster Weasley is smoking hot!” she breathed heavily, “I want to get a taste of him.”

“I’d take a serving,” Mandy nodded her agreement.

“Neville Longbottom is so sweet he’s like cotton candy melting in your mouth,” Tracey explained, “and Harry Potter… is Harry Potter.”

“Harry Potter might not have a stand out trait that endears him to the world other than technically being alive,” Lisa was impassioned, “and it doesn’t matter that you don’t all want to pile up on top of him but the fact that I love him should be enough for you.” She crossed her arms, “that should make him good enough.”

Kurt crossed his arms, “and he treats you well, I assume. I’ve never heard you complain…” Kurt was silent for a moment, “or maybe you do complain, sometimes I don’t listen to you.”

“Evidently,” Hermione shook her head, “you just spoke over her.”

“What was she saying?”

“I was say-” Lisa shook her head, “it doesn’t matter. I’m happy with Harry Potter, he is my portion.”

“See,” Kurt shrugged, ignoring the chime of the doorbell and leaving it for the staff, “I was agreeing with you, some people like dry toast and black coffee.”

“It’s called the East Berlin diet,” Tracey nodded.

“Bonjour,” Fleur announced herself as she entered the great room with her sister, Nymphadora, Ginny and Luna in tow.

“What’s she doing here?” Lisa hissed.

“This is her future sister in law’s hen dinner,” Mandy hissed back, “I think they were being polite, give her the tiara.”

“Fine,” Lisa smiled politely and stepped forward, “Hello Fleur, I’m Lisa Turpin- Harry Potter’s girlfriend.” She produced a silver tiara with ‘bride to be’ in hot pink letters, “may I place this on your head?”

Fleur bowed politely, “Merci.”

“Garcon,” Tracey called out, “tequila.”

Kurt stepped forward as another waitress served them welcome drinks, “tonight we brave few gather to celebrate Fleur Delacour’s impending nuptials and her last night of freedom. Let us raise our glasses and have some fun.”

“Tomorrow afternoon you’ll be in my club,” Tonks raised her glass and immediately put it to the side when the rest of the group sipped.

Another waitress handed out shots of tequila with a wedge of pineapple resting on the rim, Tracey took the wheel, “you drink the shot and then eat the tabasco covered pineapple.”

“Fleur,” Hermione smirked, “would you like to make a toast?”

“To the life I will build with Bill,” she downed her tequila and chased it with the pineapple. The tabasco sauce caught her unawares and she coughed loudly, “may it be far from his mother.” The group giggled but Ginny sulked, “another!”

“Indeed,” Mandy encouraged, “for tonight, we dine in Valhalla!”

Kurt, Hermione, Lisa and Tracey roared their agreements and they all took the second shot. Kurt leaned closer to Hermione, “That’s enough for you. Go stand with Tonks, she isn’t drinking either.”

He then sashayed through the crowd to Fleur, he summoned a box with a flourish that would have looked like close-up magic to the muggle staff, “a gift for the bride to be, we all chipped in.” Kurt lied through his teeth but there was no way she would know that, “Open it.”

Fleur opened the box and ripped past the mountain of tissue paper, she came up holding a lacey black thong, “Kurt, this is-”

“Victoria’s Secret,” Kurt nodded, “the finest French lace and Chinese silk come together to make the sexiest negligee on the market.” Kurt wagged his brow suggestively, “to make your wedding night extra special.”

“Thank you,” she hugged him tightly, “for all of this.”

“I’m the Best Man’s significant other,” Kurt smiled politely, “it’s the least I could do.”

Kurt left her with her sister and his friends to fawn over the gift while he made his way to the fringe, where Luna and Ginny were standing, “Hey Luna, what’s wrong with her?”

“Did you not hear the dig she took at my mother?”

“Calm down,” Kurt rolled his eyes, “it was a joke.”

“And we all know that’s not why you’re angry,” Luna smirked.

“Oh,” Kurt held back a giggle, “this is about Lisa, and the fact that she’s Harry Potter’s girlfriend.”

“No,” she crossed her arms, “this has nothing to do with her.”

“Are you sure?”

“Fine,” Ginny relented, “it bothers me that he’s with her and she doesn’t even like quidditch! She’s a girly-girl who cares about her hair and…”

“You think Harry should be with you?”

“He certainly shouldn’t be with her,” Ginny sulked, “see me, I’m not like other girls.”

“Oh,” Kurt nodded condescendingly, “and you think that makes you better than us?”

“I didn’t say anything about you.”

“You didn’t have to,” Kurt shook his head, “You implied that you were more deserving of Harry Potter’s attention because you’re not like other girls.” Kurt crossed his arms and cocked his hip, “As if there is something wrong with ‘other girls’, your implication is that we’re vapid because we care about the way we look more than we care about quidditch. You forget that every single one of those girls is an A student with a bright future ahead of her being who and what she wants.”

“You’re taking this out of context,” Ginny shrugged.

Kurt tilted his head and smiled condescendingly, “You can wear the fact that you’re not like other girls as a badge of honour, there’s nothing wrong with that. The problem arises when that distinction is drawn around the fact that your subversion of expectations makes you better than other girls.”

“I’m not like other boys,” Kurt shrugged, “but that isn’t the feather I wear atop my cap. I’m quantifiably better than my peers, not because of my interests but through measurable metrics like our academic results.”

“Look-”

“No, you look,” Kurt pointed at Nymphadora and Hermione, “Do you think they’re talking about how they’re better than other girls or do you think they are minding their damn business and having fun? Mind yours Ginny.”

Kurt turned and walked away from the pair, helping himself to some of the canapés that were being circulated by the wait staff. He mingled politely as they lined their stomachs in anticipation of a long night of drinking.

Tracey stepped up to him, “did you get a stripper?”

“Certainly not,” Kurt gaped at her, “Apparently, I’m not old enough to do that, we’ll find something where we’re going.” He waved over a waitress for a fresh glass of champagne, “Would you have the head waiter call the car service.”

Kurt cleared his throat and called all eyes to him, “Ladies, we will depart shortly. To dance and drink the night away, first blood will be drawn at Language- a leather bar in Camden town. Worry not my compatriots, for I have prepared a leather for you.” Kurt gestured to the clothing rack that stood near the stairs, “we depart in fifteen minutes.”

Hermione adjusted her cleavage and pursed her lips, “how do I look?”

“How do you feel?”

“Sexy,” she grinned.

“That’s all that matters.”

~0~

Kurt wasn’t surprised to see Hermione kissing Viktor Krum goodbye in the foyer that morning, he was up to open for this morning’s vendors but elected to allow them this moment of intimacy. They were in a bubble that would never be replicated no matter how long they continued to love each other and he didn’t want to colour their moment with his presence.

They held hands and spoke in whispers too low for him to hear, Viktor smirked and Hermione giggled- a violent blush colouring her cheeks. Then they repeated the action in reverse, with Hermione smirking and Viktor blushing. He kissed her on the cheek and exited the house, Hermione leaned against the door for a moment and then proceeded to do a victory dance that would have embarrassed her to no end if she knew that somebody had seen it.

Kurt appeared at the top of the stairs as soon as she had recomposed herself. He walked slowly, a knowing smirk on his face, as he held her attention and her mind moved a mile a minute- trying to figure out how much he had seen. Kurt preened with the power he had in this moment, standing ever so slightly taller.

“What?” Hermione shrugged at him, she’d decided to play dumb.

“Hermione Jean Granger,” Kurt pursed his lips and admonished her with the slightest wag of his finger, “you can’t keep anything from me?”

“Oh,” she smirked, “is that so?”

“Of course,” Kurt matched her smirk, “I’m Kurt Elizabeth Hummel.”

“Well Lillibet,” she shrugged ever so slightly, “I have nothing to hide, nothing to share either.”

Kurt nodded ever so slightly, “very well.” She walked toward the stairs leading to the great room, “are you not going to put on pants before breakfast? Isn’t it just a waste of hot water if people can’t tell that you’ve completed your ablutions?”

“Were you listening in like a creep?”

“Not listening in,” Kurt shook his head, “but I was awake and proximal to hear the shower running… and run it did.”

“Perv,” Hermione grimaced.

“It was running when I passed to start my aerobics,” Kurt shook his head, “and it was still running when I was done.”

Hermione blushed, “oh.”

“Haven’t you heard of water waste,” Kurt admonished her and she bowed her head. Kurt smirked, “now tell me what you will.”

“I thought we didn’t do that anymore,” she smirked.

“I said I wouldn’t do it,” Kurt pursed his lips suggestively, “that doesn’t mean that I’m not open to listening to your escapades.” The doorbell rang and Kurt moved to open it, “this I have had planned for a while.”

The room was flooded with workers carrying different kinds of equipment, Kurt pointed them downstairs, Hermione gaped at him, “what is this?”

“Best friend breakfast and spa day,” Kurt smiled broadly, “a fresh haircut for me, get our nails done and facials before we brave the great unknown.”

“Oh my gosh,” Hermione beamed.

“We need to cast our worries aside for just one day,” Kurt assured her, “and bask in our love for each other.”

Hermione wiped away an imaginary tear, “that’s so thoughtful of you… and so unlike you.” She stared at him curiously, “so was throwing Fleur’s hen night… are you trying to make up for all the wrong you’ve done in case you die?”

“Don’t be ridiculous Hermione,” Kurt scolded, “I’m never wrong.” He straightened his shoulders, “and I’m certainly not going to die and leave Charlie to be loved by someone else, honestly.”

Hermione shook her head as she allowed him to lead her down the stairs, Kurt had her seated in the recliner next to his and they were served flutes of champagne. Hermione lifted her glass, “to Harry Potter, Happy Birthday.”

“Happy Birthday,” Kurt agreed with a clink of their glasses. Kurt sipped at his champagne while he picked out a clear polish colour for his nails, “Tomorrow, we adventure.”

“Where do we begin?” Hermione shook her head, “do you have a clue.”

“The smart place to start would be with ‘RAB’,” Kurt shrugged, “but the problem with initials is, they could belong to anybody- both living and dead.”

“Well, the note said that he would already be dead,” Hermione pointed out.

“No,” Kurt shook his head, “it said that he would be dead when the Dark Lord discovered the fake Locket, that could mean that the person was older and assumed that the Dark Lord might not check in on the Horcrux until he found himself susceptible to the woes of mortality.”

“So,” Hermione rolled her eyes, “that puts all the names back on the board.”

“The use of the moniker ‘The Dark Lord’ tells us something as well,” Kurt smirked with excitement, “this person held the Dark Lord in high esteem, that title bares the markers of respect.”

“Rabastan?” Hermione suggested his uncle’s name with great caution, “ _RAB_ could be the first three letters of his name.”

“Rabastan LeStrange remains loyal to the Dark Lord,” Kurt shook his head, “and he certainly isn’t smart enough to pull off a double cross on this level, for this long.”

“He was smart enough to keep your existence a secret from everyone for the last seventeen years,” Hermione countered.

“Touché,” Kurt nodded, “but what would he have to gain? He still serves the Dark Lord and remains loyal to him.”

“You might not consider Horcruxes to be too dark to think of,” Hermione shrugged, “But to a lot of people, they are as dark as it gets.”

“You think he had a moral objection to the Dark Lord’s use of Horcruxes, but he was fine with the killing, torture and prejudice?”

“It might not be the sexiest answer but it’s a start,” Hermione shook her head, “I don’t see you offering any solutions.”

“I bet you Harry has convinced himself that it was his father,” Kurt joked.

Hermione smirked, “with no evidence to support the claim.”

“We’re so bad for laughing at a broken orphan boy who wants so badly to connect with his parents that he will lie to himself despite logic saying otherwise…”

“It would be sad if it wasn’t so funny,” Hermione smirked.

“On a serious note,” Kurt looked to Hermione for answers, “do we have any leads?”

She shook her head, “it’s not like we were left a lexicon of answers, just more and more questions.” She mirrored his curious look, “do you have a footing on how to destroy them?”

“Without the sword of Gryffindor,” Kurt shook his head to the negative, “I’d need to hold one to know how to destroy one.”

A mischievous smirk spread across Hermione’s pretty face, “You could hold Harry Potter.”

“Don’t be disgusting,” he chastised her, “I’m about to eat.”

“Okay,” Hermione tried to come across more seriously, “you’ve theorised that he’s a horcrux, why not use him?”

“Harry would be a very primitive and volatile iteration of the magic,” Kurt shook his head, “very different from the polished kind we’re going to encounter. Destroying the soul piece that lives in Harry Potter is as simple as killing Harry Potter.”

“Which you’re going to do?”

“As soon as we’ve destroyed all the other horcruxes and killed Voldemort,” Kurt nodded, “it’s my duty.”

~0~

Kurt was dressed in his designer suit and cape combo for the wedding when he, Hermione and Viktor appeared on the boundary of the Weasley property with a barely audible pop. Kurt approached the burrow with hopes of getting a moment alone with his boyfriend before the festivities commenced.

As soon as he entered the lounge, he was stopped by an unfamiliar red head, “Kurt.”

“Wow,” he shuddered, “it is really unsettling to have a stranger use my name with such familiarity.”

“It’s me,” the boy rolled his eyes, “Harry Potter.”

“What happened to you?” Kurt gaped at him, “and why?”

“I’m incognitio,” Harry shrugged, “it was Mad-eye’s idea.”

“To turn you into the long lost Weasley?”

“To allow me to blend in,” Harry countered.

“Oh,” Kurt nodded to himself, “taking a break from the burden of celebrity, are we?”

“Something like that,” he nodded, “giving my heart a break.”

“How can I help you?”

“Where’s Hermione?” he looked around Kurt for his friend, “this has to do with her too.”

“She and Viktor went straight to the chapel,” Kurt explained, “I was hoping to catch a glimpse of Charlie.”

“Rufus Scrimgeour was here earlier,” Harry explained, “he was here to read Dumbledore’s will.”

“Cool story,” Kurt tried to catch sight of Charlie but could not see him.

“He left this envelope for you,” Harry produced a thick, full sized manila envelope and handed it to Kurt. The boy watched curiously as Kurt eyed the envelope before tossing it in his purse without opening it, “Do you know what it is?”

“No,” Kurt shook his head, “but it won’t make any difference right now.”

“He left me the snitch from my first quidditch match, left Ron his deluminator and a book for Hermione,” Harry prattled on, barely holding Kurt’s attention, “he also left me the sword of Gryffindor.”

This drew Kurt’s attention, “do you have it?”

“No,” he shook his head, “According to the Minister, Dumbledore had no right to leave me the sword.”

“It’s the property of the school,” Kurt agreed, “the Headmaster cannot leave public property to you.”

“But is came to me in the Chamber of Secrets,” Harry countered.

“As it would have for any true Gryffindor student,” Kurt argued, “Hermione could have just easily pulled it out of the sorting hat as well.”

“Why does it sound like you don’t want us to have the sword?”

“I want that sword more than anyone,” Kurt assured him, “I just know the basic civics of the matter.”

“Is that what you get up to when you’re not eating happiness?”

“That,” Kurt nodded, “and punching you in the throat.”

“Please don’t,” Harry clutched at his throat defensively.

Kurt put his hand on the stranger’s shoulders and smiled at his friend behind the unknown face, “Happy Birthday.”

“Thanks,” he grinned, “same to you-”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Ignore me,” he blushed violently.

Kurt decided to give up on his boyfriend and let Harry off the hook this one time, “let’s go catch up with Hermione and Viktor.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Ron?”

“He’ll find us,” Kurt shook his head, leading the taller stranger out of the house and into the ornately decorated yard. Kurt walked arm in arm with the stranger known to him as Harry Potter to the corner where Hermione was standing next to Viktor; she was wearing a lacey red cocktail dress and he was wearing something akin to a military uniform.

“Who you got there Kurt?”

“This is Barny Weasley,” Kurt answered with a polite smile, “unfortunately, he is completely mute.”

Hermione smiled broadly and started to sign, “Hello, I’m Hermione Granger, I sign slowly. It’s nice to meet you.” Harry simply stood there and stared at her as she attempted to communicate with him, “why isn’t he responding?”

“He’s American,” Kurt shrugged, “he signs in American Sign Language.”

“But he’s mute, he can hear me,” Hermione glared at the blank faced taller boy, “he could definitely respond.”

“He’s not very bright,” Kurt shook his head.

“That’s enough of that,” Harry chastised him, “I don’t like this game anymore. You know I don’t like it when you imply that I’m stupid.”

“I wasn’t implying that you’re stupid,” Kurt countered defensively, “I was saying it outright, you’re not very bright.”

“Why does he look like that?” Viktor asked after a moment of silence.

“I’m trying to fly under the radar,” Harry explained.

“Not with that cover story,” he shook his head, “that was too interesting, a mute American Weasley? Keep it simple.”

“I didn’t come up with the story,” Harry glared at Kurt.

“I was bored,” he shrugged.

“Did you not find Charlie?”

“No,” Kurt’s shoulders slumped for a moment, “that mission was unsuccessful.” He crossed his arms, “it’s really sad how quickly one acclimates to failure.”

“And the slippery slope to self-pity,” Hermione reprimanded him.

“Is this about the deplorable word?” Viktor tried to empathise with Kurt, “you’ve turned nothing into something multiple times, have you hit another wall?”

“No,” Kurt rolled his eyes, “not a wall so much as I’ve still got quite a bit of work to do, and not much time to do it in.”

“Which is why you delegate,” Viktor shrugged, “I will help you with your work, so will Charlie. Hermione will do her part.”

“Just not going to include Ron or me?”

“I cannot speak for your intentions or those of Ron,” Viktor shook his head, “I do know that Kurt’s happiness is Charlie’s happiness, and so is Hermione’s- I cannot be happy unless Hermione is also Happy.” The taller boy smirked and Hermione blushed, “those are our motivations for helping to resolve this… issue.”

“Viktor is so sweet,” Kurt smiled, “now I’m going to have to have sex with him.”

“I politely decline.”

“Good answer,” Hermione chorused with Charlie as he appeared.

“if you were easier to find I wouldn’t be offering myself to other men,” Kurt wrapped himself around Charlie as he spoke, “sure, he’s handsome, shy and sentimental-”

“What am I?”

“Abrasive and witty,” Kurt smiled sweetly, “rugged.”

“Unrefined,” Hermione muttered under her breath, earning herself a glare from Kurt.

“That’s why I take you by the handle,” Kurt smiled sweetly.

“Kurt,” Harry chastised him, “that’s not appropriate.”

Kurt quirked a curious brow, “I don’t follow, did the young’uns change the meaning of handle?”

“I thought you were changing the meaning,” Harry furrowed his brow in confusion, “Your statement wasn’t sexual?”

“No,” Kurt shook his head.

“I’m a little tea pot,” Charlie shook his head at the boy as he gestured to his handle and his spout.

Kurt’s disappointment was evident in his tone, “you’re just gross, we’re in polite company.”

“This is why…” he shrugged, “well, you know the rest.”

“I thought we retired that joke,” Hermione glared at the red-haired boy.

“We definitely did,” Kurt agreed, “it was ruined when someone made it too real.” He shook his head, “do you know how long it took me to cultivate the kind of relationship necessary to make that kind of joke?”


End file.
